


A White Room

by schwiftygeek



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hallucifer, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwiftygeek/pseuds/schwiftygeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 7.17 - When an angel sleeps, what is his worst nightmare? Includes Dean/Cas gen or slash, Lucifer, torture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A White Room

A white room. White clothes. There was sunshine streaming through barred windows, yet it was filled with such incredible darkness.

Castiel breathed deeply and stared at the white wall ahead of him. The demon Meg, allowed for him to stay within his room without disturbance and with no need to pretend he was just a human with a mental disease. But he wasn't ever truly alone, it was impossible to keep from being distracted by the constant bombardment of Lucifer's voice. Closing his eyes made it even worse, taking the shape of whatever scene Lucifer decided. Castiel resigned himself to keeping his eyes constantly open.

Sweat ran down his neck and his eyes ached from use. It was so human, so similar to the fear he felt when seeing Lucifer for the first time after taking the burden from Sam. Castiel sent thoughts to his Father, constantly seeking answers.

_Why do I feel? What is your plan for me? What can I do to fix everything that has been broken?_

And why was he feeling more mortal as the days passed?

Was Lucifer doing this? The archangel was only a splinter of grace residing within his form, but maybe it was enough to dampen his own. He slowly moved his eyes over to the corner of the room, where Lucifer was currently standing, uncommonly staring at him in silence. It was disconcerting, Lucifer had not ceased in his taunting since he had absorbed him three weeks ago. At first, it was manageable to tell himself that he wasn't there and to ignore him, even when he was screaming directly in his ear or shouting at him with his true voice. But now, he found himself starting to listen.

Lucifer continued his staring, but a small quirk of interest appeared on his face when he noticed Castiel's slow gaze.

“Hello, brother.” Lucifer said with a smile and an exaggerated wave.

Castiel returned his attention back to the wall in front of him, but he knew it was too late. Lucifer removed himself from the corner and stood in front of his field of vision. His vessel's instincts told him to shut his eyes, but he knew that would only be a worse option.

He flinched as he felt Lucifer's fingers gingerly touch his face, and cursed himself for doing so. He wasn't real, he wasn't there, he repeated to himself.

“Brother, how are you feeling? I've noticed these... little _things_ with you lately.” Lucifer said, filled with feigned concern.

Castiel answered with his usual silence, but couldn't help but return to his thoughts on how he was slowly beginning to feel more and more. The sweat, the feeling of thirst creeping on his tongue, and internal emotions growing...

But as Lucifer stood before him, he felt for the first time since being here, the feeling of his eyelids growing heavy. They drooped slightly in his vision before he quickly snapped upright, shaking away the fatigue that consumed him.

Lucifer smiled once again and sat abruptly on the bed next to him.

“Oh, what's wrong little brother? Feeling a bit tired, I'd gather... Maybe you should try taking a nice, refreshing nap?”

The thought of rest suddenly became overwhelming to him. As an angel, he'd only ever needed rest when injured. He wasn't cut off from Heaven, there was no reason to need rest or any other human needs, but there it was. Fatigue. It was all he could think about. Even the presence of Lucifer becoming second rate compared to the call to sleep. Castiel knew it was not an option. Sleep would only allow Lucifer further into his mind, melding his dreamscape into something terrible.

But it was now out of his hands. He felt the cloth of Lucifer's shirt and the touch of his hands as his body rebelled and fell sideways. He prayed to his Father once more for strength, but as he felt his eyelids begin to close, he found himself praying to Dean. Please Dean, please help me.

 

~

 

Castiel opened his eyes quickly, laying on his back. All he saw were clear blue skies. He sat upright with his arms below him and saw rich, green grass. He knew immediately, this was his favorite Heaven. He watched with affection at the man flying his kite, his smile making this perfect day even brighter. There was such beauty in his Father's creations, and here he was to behold one of the simplest examples of it. Castiel rose to his feet, and listened for the songs of the Host. He couldn't remember why he had come here or what his mission was. Before he could think further, Uriel, his secondary, appeared before him. Uriel's wings shimmered gold around his celestial grace, the light approaching him slowly.

“Hello, Uriel” Castiel said.

“Castiel, you are in a vessel?” Uriel replied with confusion.

Castiel looked down at himself. A vessel. He could feel his true form right beneath the skin, of light and ice. The feeling of occupying a vessel not entirely unknown to him, but this vessel, it felt... correct.

“I appear to be.” Castiel began, but was cut off from his thought as Uriel began to speak.

“Castiel, we are to lay siege to Hell. Our mission must be completed.”

Yes, he remembered now. The orders came straight from the Archangel, to save the Righteous Man. How could he have forgotten? His thoughts were halted once again as some of his garrison began to appear before him, awaiting his attendance. He stepped forward, consumed by the comforting touches of grace from his Brothers and Sisters.

“Our mission is just. We will leave immediately.” He replied to his garrison. He willed his blade out of his overcoat and into his hand, before noticing once again that he was within a vessel. When did he receive a vessel? He could not recall any missions requiring one, he hadn't even been on the Earth in two millenia. His head pulsed with a faint buzz, distracting him. He pushed the thoughts aside, an angel shouldn't question, he is meant to follow orders and his orders were of the utmost importance.

They gathered with the rest of the garrison and flew downward. His superior, Zachariah, blazed through the veil, hellfire becoming nothing but smoke as it attempted to touch his form. Time flew past as his garrison began delving into Hell. Castiel felt the fires of Hell touch his wings, singing them and leaving uncomfortable heat on his skin.

This vessel is not meant for the siege of Hell, he thought, sulfurous air filling it's lungs, heat scalding it's flesh. But those thoughts became hazy as the battle in front of him began. Then as if time had suddenly folded, Castiel found himself in a different realm of Hell, flying lower and lower, bloodied and burnt, his grace weakened by the distance from Heaven. _Years_. It had been years that he has been here in this place. He could feel his Brothers' cries as their grace was extinguished, their deaths sending a wave of sorrow through him. He could feel his closest kin, Rachel and Uriel, though far away, he prayed for them and delved deeper into the fire.

His wings became charred and blackened by the fire but he ignored the burning at his grace away as he saw the the inner realm of their target. A storm abruptly surrounded him and the heat became an overwhelming cold. Though Castiel could not directly feel the temperature, his vessel began shuddering from the freezing wind, sending incredible sharpness through him. He willed his wings to continue and began his descent on the platform holding the Righteous Man.

Castiel landed near the edge of a stone platform, crumbling in places and falling into the storm encompassing him at every angle. He walked forward and saw the human soul sitting close by with his head bent, as if meditating. His soul manifested his form on Earth in every detail, unclothed and whole. The man was alone and it sent Castiel into a frenzy of searching, as surely there would be a foe attempting to keep their prize. He saw no one and made the decision to run forward and take the soul out of perdition.

“Dean Winchester, I am an Angel of the Lord, we must leave at once.”

As he gripped tightly to the soul's shoulder, the man raised his eyes back up to Castiel. Castiel gasped as he stared into inky black pools. The face of the Righteous Man showed itself as a creature of Hell, disfigured and terrifying. It was too late. _He was too late._

 

~

 

Castiel froze, hand still upon the Righteous Man. What was he to do now? He was without orders, he couldn't raise a demon from the depths and unleash it upon the Earth. He called to Zachariah, to Michael, to anyone, to give him guidance. He heard none. The voices of Heaven were completely inaudible to him.

The creature his garrison sacrificed for smiled at him, but it wasn't a smile that filled him with happiness like in his favorite Heaven. It filled him with dread.

Quickly drawing back, he stretched his wings, only to find his wings would not respond, held inside his vessel by an unknown force. He stepped backwards, unable to continue as he reached closer to the crumbling platform's edge. Castiel closed his eyes. The mission was a failure, his garrison's sacrifices in vain. He would die here, in Hell, failing at the most important task bestowed upon him. Castiel shook his head from these thoughts, he was a warrior of God, it would be blasphemy to give up. He willed his blade but was unsurprised as it failed to materialize.

“Dean Winchester. You have Fallen, you must return to the side of Light.” Castiel said sharply, and received an air of wickedness in reply.

“The side of light? I think I am a little too far gone for any light,” he replied, smugly.

Though these were their first words spoken, Castiel received a tug of familiarity. _Why?_

The ground beneath them crumbled a bit more as Castiel walked forward, staring straight into the eyes of demonic perversion of the Righteous Man. He could feel the futility in confronting him, but he was duty-bound to try.

“Have you seen what I've done? I am where I belong.” Dean spoke.

“You have tortured another soul. But, you are the Righteous Man, your soul shines so brightly, even in this place. You are meant to be saved.”

“Righteous Man? I think you need to pick up a dictionary, because there ain't anything righteous about me. But, I can give you a refresher course.” Dean smirked and turned his back to Castiel, proceeding to walk away.

Castiel opened his mouth to continue his pleas, when the storm began to increase in it ferocity. He felt his form being swept across the platform and dove to his hands, grasping cracks, to prevent being lost to the abyss. As quickly as the storm picked up, the storm abruptly stopped. Castiel saw his vision turn white as the world around him shifted completely.

Consciousness returned to him, this vessel's eyes blinking rapidly to retain vision. The scenery had changed dramatically. No longer were they in a maelstrom, but in a stone room, though Castiel could feel the harsh storm raging outside of the walls, hardly muffled. He found his wrists bound with chains, reaching to the ceiling of stone, the chain length causing him to balance precariously on his toes to keep from holding his entire weight on his vessel's wrists. As he glanced down, he could see pools of blood, some dark from time, others nearly fresh.

_Torture._ Castiel thought. _He means to torture me._

A door opened from behind him and he craned his neck to see. Dean Winchester walked slowly into the room, pushing a cart covered with a sheet, no doubt carrying instruments of pain. He wheeled the cart away from him and left it behind as he came closer.

“So, angel? Did you know you are the only one left after that little jaunt down in our neck of the woods?” Dean asked.

Castiel mourned inwardly for his Brothers, but he couldn't afford to be distracted, so he looked upon his captor reflecting no emotion.

“Nothing to say? Well, you seem to know me, but I don't know you. What's your name, angel?”

The soldier in him was conditioned not to reply, but he felt compelled to answer, as if his answer may make some difference to this damned soul. There was so much power in names.

“My name is Castiel.”

“Castiel. The pictures in all the books seem a bit off, I didn't think angels looked like tax accountants.” he said.

Castiel ignored the retort as he continued. “I am here to save you, you are meant for a higher purpose, not to languish in the abyss with demons. Please, you must retake your humanity. You are chosen by God.”

The Righteous Man laughed, and then began slipping off the blue cloth wrapped around his neck.

Castiel stared down at his form, taking in the strange pieces of cloth covering his vessel. Dean took away his ability to respond as he gagged him with the blue cloth, causing him to cough as it hit the back of his throat. Dean uncovered the tray and lifted a blade. The angel stared motionlessly as he walked towards him and lifted the blade to Castiel's neck.

“God? I know for sure that bastard does not care about little Dean Winchester, if he even exists.”

Castiel flinched at the blaspheme against his father before bringing his attention back to the blade dancing in front of his eyes.

“Are you afraid, Castiel?” Dean whispered, black eyes showing. “You are powerless, alone, and completely at my mercy... but you don't seem afraid, can you even feel fear?”

Castiel's eyes widened as Dean lifted the knife, but instead of striking the flesh of his vessel, he began methodically cutting away clothing, leaving his torso bare. Finally, this dark soul began his descent with the blade, nicking his collarbone and drawing downward. A small stream of blood obeying gravity down his chest.

An angel would not feel any physical pain, but this vessel, it felt so much and even as Castiel tried, he could not ignore it's pulsing, harsh and unrelenting. _And confusion. He felt confusion._ He couldn't tell anymore where his vessel ended and he began.

He watched as this demon brought his lips to the wound and drew his tongue at the entry, sampling angelic blood for the first time. Instead of burning the demonic presence, it did nothing. Castiel was truly without power here and felt a jolt of _fear._

With a smear of blood on his chin, Dean brought his blade down once more, drawing into flesh deeper, and Castiel could not help but grunt at the intrusion. The blade traveled it's way, never letting up, down his chest and across his abdomen, as if Dean were creating some crude drawing.

“Do you know what I've done, Castiel? What has been done to me? If you are really some angel, why didn't you save me before? Why did you wait until I mutilated all those souls on the rack?” The questions were desperate, filled with hatred and hopelessness.

As Dean continued his cutting, Castiel closed his vessel's eyes. Gagged and bound, he was helpless to the onslaught. This was not how it was supposed to be. His garrison was to save Dean Winchester from the pit, to prevent the first break of the seals. Even if Dean had already broken the seal with his first cut upon another soul, there was still a chance. He could have pulled his soul free from this place and stopped the continuing destruction of the seals. But now, now there was nothing he could do. There was only a a caricature of the soul that once was the brightest of them all.

“What kind of angel are you?!” Dean shouted.

The words made him flinch more than the knife. Though he barely knew this soul, but it felt as if Castiel had known him for so long. Every time the blade cut him, he felt more than pain, he felt despair, despair as if this soul was once a part of him.

Failing to save Dean was the worst pain of it all. When his eyes became blurry and began to leak wetness down his face, he felt as if there was truly no hope.

He opened his eyes once again, avoiding examining the damage to his vessel. Dean's face, he knew it, knew it before meeting him in this place. As he stared, something drew his attention to the flesh below.

Dean's shoulder. Something was _missing._

His eyes furrowed in concentration, though this body was just a manifestation around the fallen soul, it was whole here. Whole, except for one piece. Something was lacking and Castiel could sense it was something important.

Dean snarled and drawing Castiel's attention away, obviously displeased by his victim's reactions. He yanked the gag out of Castiel's mouth, and selected a different blade from his cart.

“Dean, something is missing from you. Something important!” he began.

His speech was cut off quickly by a full hit to the face, causing bones in his nose to break and blood to flow quickly down his lips. Dean watched with amusement before walking behind him, knocking against him deliberately in order for him to struggle with his balance.

“Obviously, I need to try something a little different. I thought we'd work our way up to this, but I think I'm ready to see those wings, angel. They're in there somewhere right?”

Castiel didn't have a moment to think before being cast into throes of agony as the sharp blade pierced his back and carved into the muscles of his shoulder blades. Screams erupted from his throat. The carving continued without pause, searching for something that the demon would never find physically within his vessel. He couldn't help but heave as the knife scraped bone and nerve, tearing through muscles that were both foreign and familiar. Castiel's mind raced, searching to find a way to get the pain to stop, he had no leverage to move with his wrists bound on the chains. The _pain_ , it kept invading his mind, halting his thoughts for escape, he was unable to cast it out. He continued his screams of agony, attempting to piece together some semblance of coherent thought. But the pain...

Something was _wrong_! This vessel, this pain, it wasn't correct. Nothing here was correct.

The shoulder. The missing piece. Not a wing or horn. It was something bright, something pure... Something from _him._ His _grace._

And everything rushed in at once.

 

~

 

The breaking of a barn door. Multiple pressures in his chest from projectiles. A blade piercing his vessel's flesh, ineffective. _The Righteous Man_. Not in Hell, but on _Earth._

_“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_

The voice of the resurrected soul questioning the entity before him.  
_“I'm an angel of the Lord” he answered._

He had been saved. Castiel saved him.

_"I'm not a hammer, as you say. I have questions. I have doubts."_  
He started to feel things. Because of Dean.

_"I'll hold them off, I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!"_  
All of it, for him.

_"It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard. It's been more than a long time. Years."_  
An embrace. Laughter and amusement, he gave them to Dean.

_"I gave everything for you!"_  
Such anger. But, these feelings, they were special. He was special.

_"Please. I've lost Lisa, I've lost Ben, and now, I've lost Sam. Don't make me lose you too."_  
And he made the worst decision of his existence.

_"I'm sorry Dean..."_  
But he promised Dean that he would redeem himself. He would once again regain his trust.

Castiel's eyes widened. He remembered, tears flowing down his face. He remembered everything, again. Even with the physical mark gone, Dean would always hold a piece of his grace, given to him as he raised his soul and changed the tides of the future.

This wasn't real. Dean, this wasn't _his_ Dean.

The blade digging into his flesh ceased, the figure that was not his Dean walked back into his field of vision.

"Lucifer." he said with venom.

“Hn, I'm surprised you figured it out so quickly. Your memories are intense, much like any angel. But of course, the most painful thing to you is failing your precious Dean. And I thought Sammy had it bad.” Lucifer replied, ending with his typical false concern.

“You have no right to use his form. This place, these events. They never happened. I saved Dean, I will always save Dean.” It was true, so true. He couldn't fail; he would bend the universe to save Dean out of pure will.

“Yes, little Brother.” Lucifer melted back into his vessel's form. The room and pain fading away until there was nothing but white. “But who will save you?”

 

~

 

Castiel gasped as if he had been drowning, eyes snapping open as he escaped his forced sleep. Rising from the bed, his eyes darted around his white prison, but he could not find the visage of his Brother. He was blessedly alone and he basked in silence, panting, even though he knew he didn't require air. The comfort of feeling fresh oxygen, untainted by sulfur was ecstasy.

His hands subconsciously came to his face, attempting to rub away stress, he found wetness there. Tears had streamed down his face during the illusion of his failure, his most painful fear. He wiped the tears away, but the thought of failing Dean, of his soul becoming twisted and unreachable in the pit lingered. But he reminded himself, he prevailed. Dean Winchester was saved.

“But, who is going to save you, Brother?” Lucifer's voice crooned.

“I have already been saved once. Dean saved me from continuing my existence of detachment and obedience. He saved me from never experiencing pain and suffering, he saved me from never experiencing free will and choice.”

As he spoke, he realized it really wasn't for Lucifer to hear, it was for _himself._

“Dean saved me. The question for you Lucifer: Who is going to save _you_?”

Lucifer's showed himself, visibly angry and intimidating. But instead of replying, he huffed and disappeared once more. Castiel knew it wouldn't be long that Lucifer would stay this ruffled, but sometimes, good things do happen.

Castiel gazed around his room, with its white walls and white sheets, and for the first time, it was not hampered by darkness. When Castiel closed his eyes, he could only hear silence. And in his mind he could only see Dean. So he smiled.


End file.
